


come rest for the winter

by ricocheted



Series: come rest for the winter [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Accidental Seduction, Banter, Cunnilingus, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Established Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, F/M, First Time, Implied Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer of Vengerberg, Multi, Multiple Orgasms, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, Vaginal Sex, before they catch feelings, frenemies to lovers, geralt went to kaer morhen and took the communal brain cell with him, so this is just two feral dumbasses going at it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:00:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ricocheted/pseuds/ricocheted
Summary: Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Not that you don’t already know, but he very recently left to go be sad and lonely at Kaer Morhen.” He perks up, scrambling for the quill and ink and scribbling something in the notebook. “Oh,lonelyandKaer Morhen, I can work with that.”Yennefer raises her eyebrow, incredulous. “You’re going to write a song about Geralt fucking off and brooding in a mountain keep?”"I'm sure you'll hear it if I do." Jaskier says, blithely. "Regardless, one doesn’t throw away a potential gem, however unrefined.”---Yennefer and Jaskier find each other, find common ground, and find themselves in bed.
Relationships: Jaskier | Dandelion/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: come rest for the winter [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1735948
Comments: 14
Kudos: 220





	come rest for the winter

**Author's Note:**

> whoops, here's several thousand words of both questionable taste and quality. someone buy me a drink while i go work on the other bits with actual writing and feelings

Yennefer truly does have good--or at least _decent_ \--intentions when she seeks out the bard. 

Honestly, she doesn’t think it’s terribly unreasonable to want to know more about her lover’s paramour. Geralt is a Witcher enamored with a human bard. It raises questions and eyebrows. If anything, Yennefer should be _commended_ for taking the high road and attempting to reach out to Jaskier.

To be fair, Yennefer likely already knows quite a bit more about Jaskier than the bard does about her. Geralt needs little prompting to speak of him--complaints laced through with impossible fondness, recollections of the latest fiasco to require a swift and unreasonably complicated exit. 

Occasionally, with the wine flowing and persuasion dripping from her tongue, Geralt will gift her with other stories. She happens to like the way Geralt blushes and growls as he recounts them; and Jaskier, while deeply annoying, isn’t unattractive. It isn’t exactly a hardship to picture them together. 

Regardless. The dew that blankets the grass outside of her current abode appears frostier every morning, and the wind has begun to bite at the tips of her ears. Geralt’s undoubtedly getting ready to make the trek to Kaer Morhen, which is largely important because Yennefer intends to approach Jaskier without Geralt hovering around. 

After all, Geralt navigates their situation with emotional deftness of a man unused to receiving affection from _one_ person, to say nothing of _two._ Yennefer actually suspects that things may go more smoothly in his absence. 

***

Yennefer locates Jaskier with what should probably be alarming ease, given the number of enemies he’s acquired and the fact that Geralt isn’t there to thwart any of them.

The bard is situated in a booth in the corner of the local tavern, legs stretched out under the table, feet propped on the seat on the other side. He cradles his lute in his lap, the feathered end of a quill resting lightly against his mouth. A mug of ale, a pot of ink, and a battered notebook sit in front of him. 

Yennefer approaches him, taking in the rapid succession of recognition, confusion, trepidation, and mistrust that flit across his face when he sees her. If there happens to be a subtle, fleeting flicker of interest, she doesn’t begrudge him that. After all, she's ravishing.

“Ah, Yennefer.” Jaskier tosses the quill aside. He’s abandoned his doublet, and the lack of it makes him look broader than usual. “To what do I owe the displeasure? Though if you’re here to kill me, I don’t want to hear it, and I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t.”

"Don't be an idiot," Yennefer tells him. "I wouldn't murder you in a tavern. It's uncouth.” Jaskier seems unconvinced. “As for my presence in this particular tavern, perhaps I just wanted to hear some music. You’re certainly a bard of...some small regard.” 

Jaskier shoots her a dubious look. “Right. From any other person on the continent that would be entirely reasonable, but you can understand why I struggle with it coming from _you_ , specifically.”

"Fine,” Yennefer sighs, rolling her eyes. She really shouldn’t have expected otherwise. “How about this, then. I'm fucking Geralt, and now you're fucking Geralt too. It behooves us to get to know each other."

Jaskier seems to briefly choke on his own tongue. Yennefer directs a pointed glance at the seat across from him, smirking when he recovers and grudgingly moves his feet off the bench to make room for her.

"So, where's the White Wolf himself?" Yennefer asks, entirely aware of the answer, as she gathers up the fabric of her skirt and slides into the booth. 

Jaskier rolls his eyes. “Not that you don’t already know, but he very recently left to go be sad and lonely at Kaer Morhen.” He perks up, scrambling for the quill and ink and scribbling something in the notebook. “Oh, _lonely_ and _Kaer Morhen_ , I can work with that.” 

Yennefer raises her eyebrow, incredulous. “You’re going to write a song about Geralt fucking off and brooding in a mountain keep?” 

"I'm sure you'll hear it if I do." Jaskier says, blithely. "Regardless, one doesn’t throw away a potential gem, however unrefined.”

Yennefer scrutinizes her nails, pleased when Jaskier's gaze catches on them. They’re an exquisite, shimmering purple. "Consider me shocked that you're not on your way up there with him."

Jaskier shrugs, plucking a few idle notes on his lute. “It was mutually decided that an isolated, sparsely-populated stronghold wouldn’t be an ideal winter venue for me." He lets out a tragic sigh. "For months! I could, possibly, wither and die for lack of a real audience."

"Hm. Or from being garroted in your sleep." Yennefer would put down actual coin to bear witness to the bard's attempt to winter at Kaer Morhen. 

Jaskier sniffs, indignant. "I'm sure that the Witchers of Kaer Morhen are far too noble for that.”

Yennefer laughs. "True. They would do it when you were awake." Ignoring Jaskier's grimace, she nods towards his notebook. "Anything about me in there?"

"Oh, certainly," Jaskier says with a wicked smirk, resting his elbows on the table. "The bawdy tale of a sorceress who, quite nobly, eschews fame and glory to ensure that folks throughout the land get to have charmed orgies. Certain to be a crowd-pleaser."

“I'm flattered," Yennefer replies, dryly.

Jaskier ignores her and sighs dramatically, letting his shoulders slump. "But I've arrived at an artistic impasse. I'd wanted to compare you to a flower of some sort, but while I happen to know quite a bit about them, my knowledge doesn’t extend to the aggressively deadly ones." 

Intrigued, Yennefer takes a peek into his thoughts. There had been a gardeners’ apprentice, and she’d cultivated the loveliest flowers Jaskier had ever seen. He’d been enamored with the dirt underneath her nails when he kissed her fingertips, the blush that blossomed beneath her freckles when he fucked her on the lush manor grounds that she tended. 

"Ah! Bad witch!" The thoughts unspooled before her suddenly disappear, so abruptly that Yennefer almost recoils. Across from her, a vaguely huffy Jaskier clears his throat. "If you're doing what I think you're doing, that's _extremely_ rude, and probably why people find you all so suspicious." His cheekbones are dusted with a charming pink. 

Yennefer considers trying to lie, but curiosity wins out. She's also still a touch preoccupied. It had been a _very_ vivid memory. "How could you tell?" 

Licking his lips distractedly, Jaskier waves his hand, nearly knocking his mug over. "Geralt told me you could." His shirtsleeves gather handsomely about his elbows. "And you went a bit, you know.” Jaskier lets his features slacken, eyes going unfocused. She absolutely hadn't made that face. 

Returning to himself, Jaskier continues loftily. “A performer must be able to know when they've lost a crowd's attention. And I can't quite picture you getting lost in your _own_ thoughts. Not when there are so many other interesting ones to pry into." His blush deepens, but his gaze is keen.

Yennefer shifts in her seat without thinking, leaning forward. "I'm impressed. Geralt thinks you're an idiot." She assumes that her own prior thoughts on his idiocy need not be spoken. 

Jaskier pouts, drumming his fingernails on the table. " _Geralt_ fails to acknowledge my vast repertoire because it doesn't include the skills he views as immediately relevant to his witcherly pursuits." He gestures vaguely, wrinkling his nose at the lack of appreciation. "Wilderness survival, monster-slaying. Self-preservation, or so I've been told." 

Yennefer rolls her eyes. "That does sound like Geralt. I personally find that self-preservation tends to get in the way of doing anything interesting." Jaskier snorts in agreement, idly fidgeting with one of his rings. Yennefer finds herself mesmerized by it. Jaskier catches her looking, and thoughtlessly bites his lip.

They hold each other's gazes, silence stretching between them far longer than appropriate. Jaskier's tongue darts out to swipe across his lips, and the soft blue of his eyes seems to darken in the dimming candlelight. 

_Oh_. Yennefer realizes that she's about to make a truly idiotic decision. _Fuck it._

"So, bard," Yennefer remarks, shooting him a fierce smile. Jaskier blinks at her, realization dawning in his eyes. She runs a finger along the rim of his cup and the wheaty, watery ale gives way to a dark ruby wine. "What say you to getting to know each other?"

***

"Was the wine to your taste?" Yennefer asks, leading him up the tavern stairs to the room she’d acquired. Without bothering to wait for his response she turns and winds her hand into his hair, kissing him, flicking her tongue out as though to chase whatever taste may linger. "Because it certainly was to mine."

With a confidence that she hadn’t quite anticipated, Jaskier leans his weight into her and presses her solidly against the door. He deepens the kiss, tongue curling against hers enthusiastically, and she reaches back to scrabble for the doorknob, nearly toppling them both to the ground when it suddenly swings open.

Yennefer distinctly doesn't preen when Jaskier gapes at the interior of the enchanted room, piling his bag and lute on the floor just inside the door. "What? Did you think I'd settle for the _lodgings_ they provide here?" She waves a hand and the candles lining the walls and perched atop various pieces of furniture flare to life. 

The bard’s already tugging his shirt over his head. "Have you ever considered taking a bard with you on your travels?" Jaskier bats his eyelashes at her, shamelessly. "I've heard that they can be quite invigorating for the spirit, and bribed with fine goods and accommodations."

"Yes, that certainly does explain your journeys with Geralt,” Yennefer replies, dryly, even as she hastily removes her jewelry. "I'm sure you get those from him in spades." 

Jaskier tosses his shirt to the side, barely avoiding a lit candle, and waggles his eyebrows at her. "Exceptions made for comely Witchers, of course. They get to pay with adventure and chiseled stoicism." He gets down to help remove her boots and looks so good on his knees that Yennefer bites her lip at the dizzying arousal sweeps through her. Petting at his hair to reward his thoughtfulness, she wonders if she could keep him there. The way he shudders and tilts his head into the touch tells her that she probably could.

_Another time,_ Yennefer thinks, as Jaskier gets to his feet, just a touch unsteady. She turns her back to him and gathers her hair up, exposing the high collar of her dress, before shooting him an expectant look over her shoulder. "Well? Do you plan on offering further assistance?"

Jaskier snorts and deftly does away with her buttons, taking the liberty of pressing a kiss to the top of her spine. "I'm going to be generous and assume that you do, generally, know how to take your own clothing off, despite all evidence to the contrary."

“Far be it from me to deprive others of an opportunity to be chivalrous,” Yennefer replies, stepping out of the dress as it falls to the floor. She allows his fleeting touch to her bare hips before making her way to the bed, gesturing for him to approach. Jaskier’s gaze is hot as he hurriedly sheds his trousers and follows, draping himself over her and trailing kisses along her jawline and the column of her throat.

She supposes that she should be grateful that he at least makes it to her collarbone before apparently missing the sound of his own voice. “So, just out of curiosity,” Jaskier remarks, casually, as though he isn’t very, very naked and currently putting his mouth on every part of her that he can reach. “Is picking up dashing bards in taverns a thing that you do regularly?” Yennefer bites back a moan as he focuses his attention on her breasts, thumbing roughly at one nipple and parting his lips softly to suck at the other. 

"Truly, do you _ever_ stop talking?" Yennefer inquires, panting as he flicks his tongue over her nipple. She regrets her question immediately when he lifts his head.

"Almost never," Jaskier answers, cheerfully. His gaze turns sly and his tongue darts out to swipe across his lips, without the slightest hint of subtlety. "Unless I've got something better to do with my mouth."

"Well then," Yennefer replies. She arches an eyebrow at him, letting her legs fall open. "I'm looking forward to the quiet." Jaskier laughs, eyes alight, and shimmies down the bed to grip and nuzzle at her thighs. Pleasure curls low in her gut. "As for your earlier question," Yennefer continues, reveling in both the drama of it and how good Jaskier looks between her legs. "Perhaps I'd take a bard, if I could find one worth taking." 

Jaskier grins at her. "I do like having the chance to earn my keep." He bites at the inside of her thigh, then gives it a loving kiss. "Now, if you'll excuse me." He trails his mouth upwards, then puts it to where she's wet and aching. Nosing against her, Jaskier glides his tongue through her folds and along her slit, light and easy, as though he simply wants to taste her.

Yennefer snarls and grabs his hair with both hands, hauling him forward. Jaskier groans before huffing out an amused breath. He pulls back with what little give Yennefer's grip allows to smirk up at her, blue eyes gleaming.

"Got it," Jaskier purrs, tilting his head down to return his mouth to her. His tongue flattens to trail slow licks from her core upwards. Every so often he detours as he pleases, sucking lightly, or twisting his tongue for a graceful swipe. With one last dip between her folds he shifts up to lick circles around her clit. Yennefer curses, entirely taken with the wet, plush heat of his mouth and the way his moans reverberate against her, as though he derives just as much pleasure from it as she does.

The urge to dig her nails into his temples and rifle through his thoughts like book pages gnaws at her. But she's trying to play nice and would prefer to keep his tongue on her, so she occupies herself with twisting her fingers into his hair and dragging his mouth just to the right. He takes the direction with another lovely moan, focusing his efforts where she's brought him. With a deft flick of his tongue he hooks two easy fingers inside of her and crooks them, rubbing at her walls.

She comes with a cry, spine arched, hips spasming but held in place by Jaskier's firm hand against her pelvis. The rhythm and pressure of his tongue and fingers never falter, only easing when her convulsions subside to tremors. 

"Well," Yennefer pants. Jaskier slides his fingers out of her and takes back the hand atop her abdomen to grip her thighs anew. Robbed of the ability or inclination to do anything else, she runs her fingers through his sweat-darkened hair. 

Still recovering from her release, she nearly flinches at the sensation of him nosing at her again, unhurried but clearly interested. 

"Do you intend to be down there all day?" She dearly wants it to sound snappish, reproachful, but the satiation clouding her thoughts makes it difficult. Her cunt aches with a heady mixture of satisfaction and lingering need.

Jaskier pulls away to glance at her. His face, nose to chin, glistens with her slick. "Is that a request?" Jaskier replies, flashing her a shit-eating grin. He presses his lips to the inside of her other thigh in a slow, deliberate kiss. Now that she's returned to coherence, she sees that he's idly, shamelessly grinding his hips against the bed beneath him. 

" _Bard_ ," Yennefer breathes. She sits up and trails her fingers along his jaw, under his chin, tilting it so he meets her gaze. "I assure you, if you finish on this bed before I have my turn, you need not worry about _vexed nobles_ murdering you." He shudders as her nails bite into his skin.

"Seems fair," Jaskier gasps, eyelashes fluttering. He shoots her a wry look, mouth curving into a smirk. "Though you needn't worry about me falling asleep afterwards, I'm not Geralt."

Startled into laughter, Yennefer cups the back of his head and urges him towards her. Jaskier climbs up the bed, easy and eager, and buries his fingers into her dark hair to bring their mouths together. It gives Yennefer the opportunity to bite at him and fuck her tongue between his lips, licking the taste of herself out of his mouth.

" _Yennefer_ ," Jaskier groans, with a delirious roll of his hips. His cock slides along her folds, slick and wet from his mouth and her own arousal. Yennefer hisses and bucks up against him at the feeling of it, and Jaskier's rhythm stutters. Suddenly wild, she grabs his hair and pulls him close.

“Are we going to keep fucking around?" Yennefer inquires, licking the soft bow of his lips. Jaskier makes a sound as though he’s been punched. "Or are you going to come down here so I can ride you?” 

“Absolutely,” Jaskier gasps, moaning as Yennefer tugs his head back and kisses the soft, exposed skin of his throat before releasing him. He sprawls out on the bed beside her, loose and careless. Yennefer takes in the flop of his dark hair, the blue of his eyes, barely visible around his blown pupils; the sheen of sweat covering him, the thatch of his chest hair. His flushed cock, lovely and leaking all over his abdomen. 

Breathless with the sight, Yennefer throws her legs to either side of his hips and straddles him. They look at each other for the barest moment before Yennefer, consumed with impatience and the absolute certainty that this is the best and worst idea she’s had in ages, lowers herself onto him. He feels so good that she barely keeps herself from echoing his shocked moan. 

“How’s that?” Yennefer purrs, smug and wild. She lifts her hips and sinks back down again, biting her lip and relishing the stretch of him. 

“I refuse to answer that,” Jaskier wheezes, eyes glazed over, lips parted and panting. Yennefer scoffs and puts her fingers to his bruised mouth to suck, cunt throbbing around him when he does without question, curling his tongue against them as though they were a cock. It gives her an idea, and she tugs her fingers free with a wicked smile.

"Geralt told me about you two," Yennefer informs him, eyes alight. She rolls her hips, luxuriously, arousal sparking at both the memory of it and the thickness of Jaskier's cock. "About the things you do to each other." 

"He _what_ ," Jaskier breathes, wide-eyed. He digs his teeth into his lip, tightens his grip on her hips, and fucks into her so deeply that stars burst behind her eyelids. Yennefer gasps and rocks her hips in a swift, wild rhythm, letting out a delighted laugh when Jaskier matches it. Oh, she _loves_ being right.

"Truly," Yennefer croons, caught up in the thought of it herself. There’s an aching pressure building in her with each thrust. She bounces on his lap just a bit harder, reveling in the way his eyes flutter shut, his cock stroking over some particularly lovely spots inside of her. "And _oh_ , bard, I can't _wait_ to see it for myself." 

Jaskier gasps and comes, arching his back, mouth open and curved around a shocked cry. His fingers find her clit and Yennefer grinds down against them, riding him as he pulses inside of her and fucks her through it. Words spill from Jaskier's lips, as though he’s too swept up in his release to hold them back-- _yes, just like that, love, use me how you’d like_. 

Yennefer comes with a vicious growl, Jaskier thumbing at her and murmuring softly, thoughtlessly. It’s almost too good, and she shudders through the aftershocks as Jaskier pets at her hips. It takes a moment for her to recover enough to roll onto her back next to him.

"Not bad, bard," Yennefer allows, feeling loose and generous. She props herself up and lets her fingers drift lightly over his body, dropping fleeting touches to his collarbone, his chest, his waist. On a whim, she thumbs idly at the head of his soft cock, smirking at his gentle flinch. 

“It's going to need a minute,” Jaskier admits, sighing tragically. “Fortunately, I’ve got other bits that are currently available for use.” Seemingly intent on ruining the afterglow, he winks and tongues at the corner of his mouth. Yennefer eyes him with incredulity, shooting a very deliberate look at her own thighs, where his come has started to trickle out. Jaskier shrugs and licks his lips. 

Impossibly, she feels herself getting wet again. “I absolutely cannot stand you,” Yennefer tells him, already climbing over his body, cheeks flushed. He gets ahold of her hips, guiding her up towards him. 

“Luckily,” Jaskier begins. His grin suggests that whatever’s about to come out of his mouth will be the worst thing she’s ever heard. “All you’ve got to do is sit.”

***

The next morning, Yennefer wakes up before Jaskier does. The bard is deep in slumber, sprawled out on his stomach and snoring gently; she decides to exercise a measure of benevolence, making herself a cup of tea and getting ready without rousing him.

When the time comes for her to venture out, Yennefer considers simply leaving him there, fucked out and dozing. But something, whether the lingering satisfaction from the night before or a passing bout of weakness, compels her to do otherwise.

Sighing, Yennefer bends down and nudges Jaskier. “Bard. _Bard_.” He twitches and murmurs something, but doesn’t wake. She rolls her eyes and raises her voice. _"Jaskier_.” He bolts upright, hair mussed, looking around wildly and clutching the bedsheet to his chest. His eyes, soft blue and hazy from sleep, eventually focus on her.

“Off, then?” Jaskier asks, casually, taking in her fully-clothed form. Hunger flickers in Yennefer at the pout of his mouth, still dark and bruised from last night. She smooths the front of her dress and composes herself.

“Indeed,” Yennefer responds, dryly. “The orgies don’t arrange themselves, after all.” Though he snorts, Jaskier looks distracted. He worries at his lip, a curious hesitation about him. 

“I’ve heard that it’s going to be quite a lengthy winter,” Yennefer remarks, unprompted. “And those are terribly boring.” She curses herself for being the first to broach the subject, but forges onward. “I suppose I wouldn’t be averse to the occasional bit of company. You seem to have nothing more important to do.”

“Rude,” Jaskier says, eyes lighting up. “But you clearly know how to find me with your creepy witch powers, and there’s literally nothing I can do to keep you from dropping by, so I suppose I'll be around if you happen to be in need of, you know. Entertainment." 

Jaskier lets go of the sheet and runs his hand through his hair, ruffling it further and giving Yennefer a lovely view of his chest. Hoping for a dignified end to the conversation, Yennefer turns and summons a swirling portal. 

"Who knows?" Jaskier calls out, just before Yennefer vanishes through it. She turns to look back at him, snorting when he winks at her. "I might have a song ready for you by then."

"Well, then," Yennefer says. Her lips quirk up, despite herself. "I suppose you'd best write quickly." 

**Author's Note:**

> i wasn't kidding about that drink. also, catch me at ric0cheted @ tumblr dot com


End file.
